the Sacrifice of Shadows
by Emilie Winter
Summary: Under the sway of the ancient Curse of Thorn, Michael Myers holds the quiet town of Haddonfield, Illinois in the grip of terror. But, there are two sides to every spell...there must exist a balance, an invocation of the powers of masculine...and feminine.
1. A Fall From Grace

Chapter 1

Fall From Grace

A board creaked. A small shape flinched under the covers in the dark at the break in the silence. She stared at the line of light that had appeared on the floor in front of the door. He was brushing his teeth. The time began counting down in her head.

Unconsciously she drew her knees up to her chest. She felt it happening again. As the fear welled up in the pit of her stomach, something else shifted in her head…a terrible feeling…like a wrinkle of heat in her brain. It germinated…her mind began to fill with a white, hot anger. But it was something more…a horrible, numb rage. "_No,"_ she told herself. The feeling scared her; it made her light-headed and she felt like she was going to be sick. Closing her eyes she tried to push it away…push it back. _"No, not again." _

Instead she thought about her hiding place behind the storage shed. She could see that small space in the old tree now. Just big enough for her to squeeze in and keep out of sight. She could sit there for hours…listening to the breeze brush against the leaves…feel the little black ants crawling on her arm. She watched them searching across her skin; feeling their way with their antennae writhing and their small, thin legs tickling her hands. They didn't know she wasn't part of the tree…she kept so still…so quiet. She WAS part of the tree. No one could see the dark-haired 8 year old as she huddled unseen in the cool womb of the ash tree; listening to the birds and people mowing their lawns.

She had spent everyday so far this summer in the tree. She hated Chicago. She missed the old house; Mommy making peanut butter sandwiches before leaving to drop her off at Cherry's, her old babysitter. It was nice then; not perfect…but nice. Mommy always had to work, but she had Cherry. The large, soft woman felt like the embodiment of Mother. She was always so warm and smelled like baby powder. Cherry had taken care of her almost everyday since she was a baby, Mommy said. Oh, how she missed those days; when there was nothing she had to hide from.

He loudly cleared his throat and spat into the sink. Her eyes shot open. The line of light flickered on the floor as he started to leave the bathroom and instead paused in the doorway. For a silent moment she hoped; gripping the covers around her knees. The light flicked off and she could here the board creak again. She felt so sick; the blood was draining from her face. Then, in the darkness she felt it. The door was being slowly pushed open. Her stomach tightened as a shadow slipped into the room. She felt so cold. She closed her eyes and thought of the tree…of the ants…of the breeze shuddering the leaves…anything but the man making his way to the side of her bed.

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"She's not going to want you in there," said the doctor as she held her hand up to stop the man in front of her. He was a prick; she could tell just by looking at him…the Hugo Boss suit…the immaculate hair cut…the stupid smirk on his face.

"But I told you, I have an order from Judge Claymore. I need to see how far she's been able to come under this…remarkable institution's care." There was that grin again.

She shook her head. "Look, Dr. Graham, she had another episode, but she had been completely cooperative for the past three months until last week's misunderstanding. But she's fine now. You going in there will destroy any kind of ground we may have covered…and you know it."

"I'll be the judge of that, Dr. …Dr. Sheridan," he said glancing at her name tag and moving her hand out of the way. "You have nothing to worry about. The judge needs a second opinion. You see, the governor made some cuts to our funding. The state doesn't want to pay for your experimentation any longer. It's my job to find out whether any progress has been made in the last four years; whether it would be worth it to the board to continue funding your research."

"The board has never held any of my reports in question. All the documentation is there. The results have been slow, but consistent. Dr. Ellis was here last month and wrote a full evaluation then," Alice Sheridan replied.

The man stepped closer. "The Ellis report was inconclusive and neither the judge nor the board can wait anymore. Out of all the patients you have here, the Malone case has been of most concern to them; and of course, has been the subject to the most scrutiny. She is incurable. The board is tired of this game. She needs to be moved to a more suitable institution..."

"You mean cheaper," Sheridan cut in.

The man lowered his face and smiled; scratching his brow. "Dr., she's not getting better here. You and I both know that. But the board is willing to give you the benefit of the doubt." He smiled, wryly. "That's why they sent me, Ms. Sheridan."

She stood toe to toe with him, but she knew she couldn't argue. The board had doubted her methods from the get go. But they had allowed her to conduct her study on the potential rehabilitation of the criminally insane for the past four years. She had begged the institute for the Malone case. The opportunity to recover some kind of positive response in a severely traumatized and homicidal case like Emilie was more than worth the promises she had to make to the board. Even at that time, she knew she couldn't make good on any of them. But, Emilie was a challenge…a risk worth taking, and now…it was over.

The past four years had seen some improvement. Without the negative stimulus of encounters with men, Emilie was much more cooperative. She had even begun to show signs that there was still some humanity behind those cold eyes. Emilie's periods of lucidness were growing steadily stronger; at least to those who spent much time with her.

Dr. Sheridan had brought the young woman a canary about a year ago, and to her surprise, Emilie had responded to the little bird with a startling affection. She still didn't talk much, but she could go for walks alone in the courtyard and would sometimes pick at and eat small portions of food left in her room. One of the nurses had even given Emilie a record of old violin solos, which Emilie seemed to adore. She would sit and listen for hours; and Dr. Sheridan and the other nurses knew she was dancing inside her head. Emilie really had been doing well.

But, undeniably, she still had moments of relapse where there was a visible transformation into another "person". The _Emilie_ that Dr. Sheridan's methods sought to strengthen was the quiet, rather introspective _Emilie_. This _Emilie_ could play violin and desperately wanted red pointe shoes. This _Emilie _was shy and prone to tears, but at the same time very reserved, very thoughtful and extraordinarily witty.

The other _Emilie_, stood out in stark contrast. This _Emilie_ was much more outgoing, much more eccentric and much less forgiving.This _Emilie_ was known to lash out if you turned your back to her. Because of her instability she posed a considerable threat to anyone in her vicinity. She would watch…hate…and mistrust everything anyone said or did. This _Emilie_ was playful, quick to laugh and harshly vindictive.

As a whole, Emilie was divided amongst herself in how to deal with pain. She always accused any man she saw of taken something of hers. She never said what she believed they took from her, but Dr. Sheridan knew. Emilie mourned her theft of innocence, by her own father. And most undoubtedly, she ached for a time before she was lost to her pain, wrath and regret.

Emilie was still the small child who had watched her mother bleed to death in a brutal car crash. She had been trapped in the car, alone and frightened, with her mother's body for almost two days before someone found the wreckage at the bottom of a gully. Emilie was the same little girl who was sent to live with a physically and sexually abusive father; the same Emilie who finally snapped and violently murdered that father. She had stabbed him so many times that the coroner could not accurately make a decision on how many there had been. All that anyone knew was that the girlfriend had come home and found a mangled mess of gore on the floor in the living room. Where his face should have been, was no more than a blood and pulp, and his chest was gutted. The police had found Emilie, unconscious, in an empty bathtub upstairs; covered in blood and with fresh bruises. Her father must have beaten her and she had finally given into that terrible pain and anger; that same unimaginable pain and anger that she was a slave to now.

When Emilie woke up in the hospital four days later, she was not the same little girl that anyone had known from before. She was either completely unresponsive or she lashed with intense violence. One such instance, being an unfortunately orderly at the first institution they placed her in. He took his eyes off her long enough for her to rush him and push him over a chair. He had fallen and she repeatedly hit him over the head with a tray. It had taken four orderlies to pull Emilie off the body. In her senseless rage she shrieked at the men, "I want it back! You took it from me! Give it back!" Even after they medicated her, she still repeated those requests and accusations in a soft voice, her face emotionless. The orderly died of course; and as a result, for the next 8 years, until she was 16, they made sure she existed in a constant medicated stupor.

So, of course a young Dr. Alice Sheridan would jump at the mention of tackling the Malone case. Repairing the years of mishandling and the seriously tormented mind of this young woman would become something of an obsession with Dr. Sheridan. She needed to prove that her proposed methods could completely transform the concept of the state's lifetime incarceration of the criminally insane, to a program of rehabilitation. Who better than the infamous Emilie Malone to prove that the methods could prove successful? Emilie was indeed a challenge, but one that Dr. Sheridan felt confident about. Emilie had been fine at one time; before the trauma, Emilie had been a normal healthy eight year old child. Watching your mother bleed to death at six and being physically and sexually abused for the following two years was enough to make anyone snap.

But now, they were giving up on her. They would put her in another institution; the Smith's Grove Sanitarium in Warren county. It was notoriously understaffed and where most of the hopeless, criminally insane ended up. It would be Emilie's grave. It would be the end of all hope for the rehabilitation of these seriously misunderstood people; the end of Dr. Alice Sheridan's work. It was a strike to her pride and to years of research, and here was this cocky tool coming to carry out the death blow.

She couldn't do anything but step aside as he ushered in three male orderlies. He glanced back at her with a nod and a sneer then quickly followed them into the room.

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"I can't take responsibility for this. I told Dr. Graham that it was more than a bad idea. He instigated the episode." Dr. Sheridan paced with the phone in her hand and gave a deep sigh. "Yes. Yes. I know…Yes, Sir, I understand." She stared at the phone for a moment as she hung up the receiver.

Well, that was that. They wanted Emilie back in Illinois. She would be transported to Smith's Grove within the week.

Alice Sheridan slowly walked out of her office and down the hallway; nodding at the nurse that quickly rushed by. She made her way to an elevator and pressed the button to get to the next upper level. When the doors opened she made a left and walked towards a door farther down the hall, then stopped in front of it. She stared in through the window at a dark-haired young woman seated in a chair looking out of the sunlit window. Her porcelain-skinned face was remarkably pretty and framed in wispy curls. She gave the impression of innocence, but her light blue eyes were cold and empty.

"We all failed you, Em…No one stopped him from hurting you…and now I can't stop them from taking away the last hope you had."


	2. Eve of Terror

Chapter 2

Eve of Terror

She was lying back in a chair in the corner on the far side of the room; her head back, staring off at the white ceiling. Three other female patients were watching television on the other end of the room. An orderly was reading a magazine behind a window in the observation room.

It was almost time for lunch. She could hear the new nurse fumbling with her key on the other side of the door. Emilie listened as a woman's voice asked for help with the door. The orderly behind the window put down his magazine and got up. Emilie slowly raised her head and quietly got up and walked to the window to look out on the autumn landscape.

"_The sun is shining."_

"I got it," said a man's voice from the other side of the door; she could hear a key opening a lock. Emilie listened to the nurse push the food cart into the room.

"Hello, girls. Time for lunch. Em, are you going to eat lunch today?"

Emilie didn't move; just continued staring out the window.

"You know she won't eat," replied the orderly. "Here's Shelly's." The orderly handed the nurse a flimsy plastic tray.

"Here you go, Shelly." The nurse handed one of the patients a pre-portioned lunch.

As Emilie stared fixedly outside, she felt _the other_ push herself to the forefront. _**"I don't remember what grass feels like…But, I remember what it smells like."**_ She closed her eyes and she smiled to herself; wrapping her arms around her middle.

"Oh, Trish…here…no, no…let me do it. Kyle, could you get this?" the nurse was awkwardly trying to pick up the mess.

As soon as the orderly turned his back to help the nurse clean up the spilled plate, Emilie turned and walked towards the door; grabbing a pen from a clipboard on the lunch cart.

"_**When will they ever learn? They always put a stop in the door. They should know better. They'll fix that lock now."**_Laughing softly to herself,Emilie glided down the white corridors, hugging the walls as she neared the corners.

With her right hand bandaged and her left hand holding a pen, scraping down the wall, she came up on a pair of doors. She reached out to push through them, but they didn't give. She was locked in again. Emilie looked down the hallway; her hands came up to her face and mournfully gripped her dark curls. She wanted out. She wanted to see the sky and the trees and smell the sun-warmed air. She wanted to reach out and crush that orderly, but had instead used the moment to get out and take a walk and look around. She wanted to see something new.

She slowly turned around and studied the illuminated corridor. She didn't know this hallway. It wasn't her hallway, but it smelled the same. Oh, how she hated Them. It made her insides writhe every time she saw Them. Them…They were loud; so terribly loud when They walked. And, They never opened the windows. They stole her little bird and didn't let her have her music anymore. She didn't like this place. It was too clean…too cold. She wanted the outside. She wanted to see the clouds and see all the shapes they made. She wanted to lie under a tree and wait for the night so she could see the stars, and then wait for the morning dew to cover her. She just wanted outside to hear the birds and smell the autumn air.

She ran the pen in her hand, menacingly across the wall and walked back the other way down the hall. She had her eyes closed and was remembering how the breeze felt in the springtime, when her pen hit a door jam. She opened her eyes and turned to look at the door. It didn't have a knob. Just a large flat lock like her's had.

"_Who is in this one?"_ she thought.

"_**Probably another one of Them."**_

She remembered seeing another one of Them through the window in one of the other doors the other day. He made her angry because he scowled when he saw her. But he made her even angrier when his scowl turned into a dirty smile and he started making rude gestures at her. She tried to get in to stop him, but the window wouldn't brake; her hand did instead. They always made her so angry.

Up onto tip toes, she looked in through the window in the door to see a room just like hers. And, in a chair facing the window was one of Them. Her anger rose up like a heat from the pit of her stomach and her hand tightened around the pen. Even the strange scar on her forearm tingled at the sight of him. He was sitting very still; very quiet, just looking out the window. Something inside her shifted; it told her this one was different. The look on his face was blank…beautiful and blank. Nothing about him seemed like the others.

She was beginning to hear the sound of hurried footsteps somewhere in the background. She frowned, but didn't pay it any more mind than that. She didn't want to go back to her room. She didn't even want to look away. She wanted to watch this statue of a man. She knew the orderlies were there and she knew what the sting meant when they injected her. She fought the drowsiness that hit her a moment later; she felt her knees buckle under her and saw her vision slip. But she had him. She had the image in her head, and she held on to it as she fell into the medication's lonely sleep.

- -

A strange sensation had disturbed him. It had felt like a trickle of heat in the back of his brain. As he turned, he saw, in the window, two pale blue eyes. Just as he got up from the chair, the eyes rolled into the back of their sockets and fell out of sight. He walked to the door and watched as the orderlies carried her off. That's when the mark on his wrist writhed and raged with a searing heat.

"_**It is almost time."**_

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She had been lying awake, listening to the buzz that comes in with the silence. The last few days had found her agonizing over that curious man; and her nights were filled with dreams of fire. She was beginning to drift off, when she heard a curious sound. It was like nothing that she had heard here before. She sat up in the bed and listened. She could here a commotion outside in the hallway. Looking up she saw a shadow come to the window of her door and stop. She saw a face she recognized; it was him. As they stared at each other, something stirred inside her. She felt herself slip away and _the other_ take her place.

She stared, not believing; then flinched as the lock clicked and the door swung open. She blinked her eyes to see if she was asleep. But no, the door was open…and the man was now gone.

Light streamed into the room as did the cold, sterile air from the corridor outside. Slowly, she got up and cautiously made her way to the doorway and peeked around the door. There were a few patients roaming around the halls and doors all down the hallway were open. They were free. As she turned to look down the other end of the hallway, she was shocked to suddenly see him again; this time standing unbearably close to her. She could have reached out and touched him. She giggled sweetly as she studied his face. It was emotionless, and his eyes were dark voids. He stared back for a moment, considering, before turning and walking down the hallway. Adoringly, she watched him as he went away, noticing how quietly he walked, until he rounded the corner and out of sight.

She could get out now. Her door was open. But They were walking around everywhere. Spying a maintenance cart at the end of the hallway, she bit her lip and made a dash for it. Rummaging through a tool bag, she found a screwdriver. Hungrily, she rolled it over in her hands. As she turned around, she was grabbed by another patient. With no hesitation, she plunged the screwdriver into the man's gut and ripped up. She closed her eyes and smiled in ecstasy as his blood ran out over her hand and onto her arm.

"_**Delicious isn't it?"**_asked that familiar voice.

She opened her eyes and put her forehead up to his. **"I warned you. I told you you'd regret what you did to me,"** she hissed through a deviously smile.

Angrily, she dug in deeper and watched with satisfaction as he shivered and slumped over. She pulled out the screwdriver and let him fall to the floor. Suddenly, everything felt so warm and inviting. Excruciatingly beautiful pulses ran through her body as she ran her hands along her neckline and the sides of her face. Smiling eerily and covered in blood, she made her way down the hallway in the direction her lovely savior had gone and followed it out the main entrance and onto the lawn.

It was pouring rain. Some of the other patients were wandering aimlessly around the lawn. A station wagon was parked out in front of the gate and a man on the outside was trying to get in through the gate. Emilie ran to the fence and climbed through a hole in the chain link. She paused, looking around, before running up to the side of the car. There was a woman, a nurse, in the driver's seat. Through the pounding rain, the woman couldn't hear Emilie open up the back of the station wagon and climb in. A moment later, the sound of the downpour was broke by the sound of the woman's scream and Emilie looked just in time to see an arm choke and pull the screaming woman from the car and throw her onto the side of the road. Lying flat in the back of the wagon, she heard someone get in the driver's seat and hit the accelerator. She felt the car lurch as it turned around and headed off into the night.

- -

It was quiet, except for the sound of the rain and the rhythm of the windshield wipers. She knew who was driving. She didn't have to look up. She smiled to herself knowing that he knew she was there. He must have seen her get in the car right before he jumped on top of the roof. He must know that she was here with him.

"_**Together at last," **_chimed the voice again. _**"You are safe with me."**_

Drenched and clutching the bloody screwdriver, she closed her eyes and let herself fall into sleep, listening to his breathing.


	3. the Dark Promise

5:58 pm October 31, 1963

_5:58 pm October 31, 1963_

She had been staring out the window all evening, watching the other children in costumes as they took turns ringing the doorbells at the houses across the street. She felt like an intruder; stealing these simple moments of childhood happiness. She had never gone for the evening charade before; never had donned a pillow case or a bright, hollow plastic pumpkin to go for the yearly candied walk around the neighborhood. The decorations that came up this time of year intrigued her. In fact, all day at school she had been particularly drawn to a paper wall hanging of a smirking skull hung above the teacher's chalk board. Now she couldn't leave the window as the seemingly never-ending stream of laughing ghosts, skipping witches and other colorful creatures passed by with their mundane caretakers shadowing closely behind.

Emilie looked down at the white plastic mask in her lap. She had found it in the street on her way home from the bus stop this afternoon. It had almost blown away with the breeze. It was a rare treasure that served to remind her of what she knew she could never have. The mask was shaped like a docile, eyeless face, perhaps a woman's, and it was strangely beautiful to her. She ran her fingers along the side of its cheek and, for a moment, entertained an alluring idea.

A door opened upstairs and Emilie could here a woman curse as she scrambled to get her foot into a high heel. She moved in closer to the drapes as the woman made her way down the stairs.

"Emmie, I'm going to work now. He will be home in a couple hours. Here…"

Emilie turned and watched as her father's girlfriend turn on the t.v. set.

"Sorry, I don't have time to take you out tonight. Maybe if you're good, Joe…eh…Dad will take you out..." said the blonde as she fussed in a mirror next to the front door.

At that, Emilie looked down and started to turn back to the window.

"Well, maybe…you never know, Emmie. As long as you don't have another incident like the other night, he just might."

Emilie's jaw tightened as the woman started to pace looking for her car keys.

"You know, Emmie, one of these days you'll realize how lucky you have it. You know they wanted to send you to Nebraska to live with Grannie."

The woman gave a visible shudder. "Your dad's mom is a real piece of work. Trust me, you're made in the shade here rather than in that shit hole…Anyways there are some sodas in the fridge…Lock the door behind me."

For a minute, Emilie stared at the front door. The t.v. buzzed in and out of reception across the room; eerily, somehow the sound seemed to add to the isolation she felt. Suddenly, something hit the window, loudly, next to her and she turned, startled. A ghastly face stared back at her on the other side of the pane. She stared into the two brown eyes that laughed at her from behind the plastic mask, as other children giggled from across the street. Emilie followed the little boy with her eyes as he pushed off the window and ran back to where his friends were cheering.

…_When There is Nowhere to Hide…_

It was night; moonless and chill. Wispy curls caught the autumn breeze around her face and her skin was warmed by the bonfires encircling her. The haunting odor of burnt flesh permeated the air and ash brushed across her cheek. In the distance she could hear chanting. As the voices came closer, from behind her, she somehow began to recognize what they were saying.

"_**An Mallacht na Dealg." **__"The Curse of Thorn."_

"_**An íobairt fá na scáth…"**__ "The sacrifice of shadows…"_

"_**Ár slánú sa an lámh dar Bás."**__ "Our salvation in the hands of Death."_

"_**An dia agus bandia"**__ "The god and the goddess"_

"_**Réir roinn bás."**__ "Shall deal death."_

"_**Ar mar mhaithe le an sábháil."**__ "For the sake of the Harvest."_

"_**Ar Oíche Shamhna, Bás réir ardú." **__"On Samhain, Death will rise."_

Shuddering, Emilie slowly turned towards the sound and then sank to her knees, in alarm, at the sight before her. In front of her stood a huge man swallowed in flames. Inside the man were all manner of beasts and people; each struggling with choked screams to escape their peril. On either side of the bonfires were robed figures in bone-white, eyeless masks; all chanting in time with the drums. Overwhelmed, she tore her gaze from the wicker man and his victims. Her heart pounded with the unearthly rhythm and the sound painfully bore itself into her skull. She tried to will the chanting voices away, but they resonated steadily louder in her head.

"_**Bí a neart."**__ "Be his strength."_

"_**Bí a síoraí." **__"Be his immortality."_

"_**Bandia bí a críoch."**__ "Goddess, be his end."_

"_**Roinn a beatha agus roinn a bás."**__ "Deal his life and his death." _

Shaking her head, she pleaded with the voice in her head,

"_But for love or fear, how could a man be made kill?"_

"_**The man becomes as a god, without love or fear."**_

"_Without love…or fear…?"_

"_**Save for his goddess…whom he shall love AND fear."**_

A searing pain on the inside of her wrist forced her to look down. Branded into her skin was a mark, resembling two lowercase _p's. _Again, there was that feeling; that shifting inside her heart, that firestorm in her mind. She fought its control; she pushed back as it surged forward.

"_**No fear. No escape. No return. All must be done before the Rest,"**_coaxed the all too familiar voice in her head. _**"Be his strength. Be the goddess to his god…Bí agus bandia go dtí a dia…Bí agus bandia go dtí a dia…Bí agus bandia go dtí a dia…"**_

A sense of towering dread caused her to look up and see one of the dark priests standing over her; his white-masked face gazing down at her. In his hand was a knife covered in blood. Upon seeing him, the inferno in her mind welled up to such intensity that she felt her head would split. Unable to move, she watched through trembling eyes as he raised the knife over her head. The blood on the blade seeped down till a drop formed on the tip. Emilie felt her head being pulled back. She lashed out, helplessly, against the rage in her heart one last time as the drop separated from the knife and fell towards her. When the drop hit her forehead, it felt as if her skull had been cleaved, and she silently crumbled to the grass

Powerless now to its strength, she could feel the angry writhing in her heart begin to spread. It branched out like a black vine from her core. It curled itself into her limbs; unfurling all the way to her fingers. It caught hold of her mind and drank away any resistance she had left.

Weakening, Emilie curled up in a ball on the grass and stared up into the star-filled sky. The lights above sparkled within the immense blackness with a startling indifference over the terrible scene below. The night seemed to grow steadily colder and she felt the dew gathering. Slowly the chant faded back into the night until all that was left was the sound of fire, the scorching rancor in her heart and the smell of death.

_6:47 am October 31, 1978_

She awoke, startled, to the sound of the car door shut. For a moment she lay there in the back of the station wagon; trying to remember where she was. When she realized that the bonfires and the white-masked druids were gone, she slowly lifted herself up and turned herself all around. She noticed something large on the bench seat in front of her. It was a slab of stone. She tilted her head to read was carved into cold face.

"_Judith Myers"_ was as far as she read.

She creased her brow and looked back up. They had parked out of the view of the main road. Behind a low hill, she could partially see two vehicles: a red tow truck and a small sedan.

The air was cold as she climbed out of the wagon and the chill dirt stung her bare feet. Still clutching the screwdriver, she walked around a small dirt hill to where she had seen the truck. _He_ was there, rummaging inside the cab, still in his clothes from the hospital. She stood there for a minute, watching him. She noticed he had a pair of work boots lying at his feet as he pulled a worn pair of coveralls from underneath the seat. He was just as she remembered him: fairly tall, broad shouldered and fair of face; almost angelic. He didn't seem to know she was there when he began to strip off the filthy, wet uniform. She smiled as she watched as him pull on the pair of coveralls.

As he knelt down to lace up the strings of the boots, she turned and headed towards where she had seen the other car. That's when she saw the sprawled out body of a man. She stared at the dead man's pale, shocked face with casual indifference for a moment and then walked around to the sedan.

The woman, who had been waiting to get her car pulled from the mud, was slumped over in the front seat. She had been strangled in the same manner as the mechanic.

"_**Ár slánú sa an lámh dar Bás,"**_she remembered the dark figures chanting in her dream._**"Our salvation is in the hands of Death."**_ She shivered at the memory.

The woman hadn't been much older than Emilie; and relatively the same size. Emilie kneeled down and pulled off the woman's tank top and jeans. Her feet had been larger than Emilie's though, and so the sneakers were a bit large, but the sweater in the back seat would fit her fine.

After she gathered up the clothing she stood up; only to see him standing a few yards away, staring at her. Her surprise faded quickly into a sweet chuckle. She dropped the clothes, as he started to stalk towards her. Dreamily, she half danced, half glided towards him and dodged his first attempt to grab her. She laughed as she twirled past him, and caught one of his hands as it came down towards her, while he grabbed her other hand that held the screwdriver. He was much stronger than her and forced the screwdriver back down towards her. She strained too keep a smile as he forced her backwards and up against the side of the car, but her smile faded as his face came close to hers. She could feel his compulsion to kill her; it blazed like an inferno in her mind.

She moved her face closer to his. "You know you could do it," she said. "But, I know you won't." He stopped suddenly and stared back; his eyes flickering for a moment.

"_They are so dark; so angry…yet so calm," _she thought to herself. _"Why do I feel so drawn to him?"_

"_**Because he is drawn to you...he is not like the others.."**_

"_There's more to it than that. I can't look away. I couldn't run away if I tried. There's no anger in my heart for him."_

"_**Sacrifice is a double edged sword and both sides are necessary."**_

Again she felt two entities struggle within her. Her heart was being pushed and pulled; her mind fought the darkness. But, as she stared into his eyes, her resistance fled from her.

The voice inside her dealt the decisive blow,_** "You are his and he is yours."**_ Her eyes dilated as the world around her suddenly seemed to drain away. She furrowed her brow and moved in closer, whispering seductively, "We are the same; you and I…we are two halves of the same promise."

"_**Bí agus bandia go dtí a dia…Be the goddess to his god,"**_ She could here the pulse in her mind.

She hadn't realized it but tears had begun to stream down her face. She didn't move; didn't make a sound. Something about him being so close made her feel as if her skin was on fire. He pulled back a little and loosened his grip; and his fingers found the raised scar on her wrist. He stared down at it. It matched the one on his forearm. He lifted his head up to her and she searched his face. It took him a second, but he read something in her eyes…something that cause him to back up, but she caught his face in her hands, her eyes raging. The air around them seemed to be on fire as a voice, not her own, said,

"**Michael, you have come to be Death…you shall deliver your wrath…so that others might be spared. But I have come for you…to be your Immortality…and to be your End. May you be a shadow to your prey and a rock to those who would do you harm. So be it…a reaper, anointed in blood, to sacrifice in the sway of the Thorn."**

For a moment, they both sat there frozen. Slowly, her hands slid from his face, as the fire slightly receded. Her blazing stare locked with his cold eyes, she raised herself up to stand before him. He didn't move, but followed her with his eyes. Looking down and without a word, she slowly peeled off the damp, blood-stained scrubs.

"**Roinnt bandia go dtí bhur dia…"**_**"A goddess to your god…"**_

_7:58 am October 31, 1978_

The sky was overcast and the autumn breeze gave her goose bumps as she pulled the sweater across her shoulders. She began to feel herself as she walked ahead of him to the car and once again got in the back bed; her back to him. She smiled whimsically as she watched a crow lift off of a power line. He hesitated as he went to put the key in the ignition. Without looking at him, she nodded.

"_**Haddonfield."**_


End file.
